


a chariot overturned

by mysidibule (dragonflame3333)



Series: confessionals [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Gender-neutral Reader, Mild Sexual Content, Mythology References, Other, as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonflame3333/pseuds/mysidibule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>side story: boning that never happened.</p><p>(in which a no mercy reader likens sans to persephone and themself to hades.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a chariot overturned

**Author's Note:**

> someone gave me a pomegranate and i ate it. it was good.
> 
> sort of a non-canon side drabble to my no mercy fic "...i was human" (since idk when ill update that). there's no actual smut, sorry bout that. also, like, 200 kudos milestone on the main fic, how cool is that

His teeth line your neck, drawing pinpricks of red for him to laugh and lap at. He is Persephone, who dines on jewels of pomegranate gifted by her lover Hades. So, then, you are the god of the underworld, reviled, misunderstood; king of all below ground, of riches and the dead. You, with paramour at-arm, take your meals on shining gold floors, marveling at the splash of wine poured from crystal goblets. Ah, but how exquisite a drink it is! You run your tongue over his mouth, and the iron within you resonates with the blood on his teeth. The two of you share a smile, a smirk; it's an acquired taste, after all.

You reach into his ribcage and grab at the white, sharp nails scraping against tender bone. He groans, and you bask in the sound. Such power at your fingertips! He trembles beneath your touch. It's all you've ever wanted. You think about breaking him, about tearing him to pieces, about making him yours.

They name the afterlife after you-- _Hades_ , they whisper, _you're going straight to Hades_. Your name is synonymous with hell, and you think you like that.

You draw a line down his spine, reveling at how he aches and pants. Once you have it in your hands, it'd be easy, you think. The right pressure in the right places, and--you make as if to snap it.

He cries out, vertebrae arching, but doesn't pull away.

"What, that turns you on?" you taunt, pressing your forehead to his. It's damp from sweat. He stares back unfalteringly into your eyes, until it's you that has to look away.

Instead, you take the opportunity to trail a hand down to his pelvis, and he jerks, grinding bone against flesh. You can't help but respond in kind, and the two of you stay that way for a few moments, nothing but mindless friction. 

Then you remember yourself, and pause. Your fingers itch for cold metal, not chalky bone. It's about time.

"Do you want me to cut you up into little pieces, too? Would that get you off?"

A sudden flash of blue, and he's got you pinned down instead. Skeletal fingers cling to your wrists, digging into new bruises and old scars. He presses hard to the tendons at the base of your hand, and the knife drops from your grasp.

"not funny, kid," he snarls, and you abruptly remember that Persephone was a figure to be feared. Dread queen of the dead, wither and curse her dominion, she rules the underground with an iron fist as her lover begs her to calm.

"Persephone," Hades pleads. "Persephone, have mercy." He chants her name like an oath, and it is one. For she is the promise of the inevitable, of good to bad, of bloom to frost, of life to death. it is her descent that sours the crops and chases the animals into hiding. She sows; she reaps.

" _Sans,_ " you gasp. "Sans, please..."

He's grinning. 

(He always is.)

His smile's of the cemetery, row upon row of headstones stark white with _promise_. 

(As it should be, as it should.)

That smile used to scare you--still does, if you're being honest. Traces of your blood linger. As he notices your gaze, he meets your eyes and dips his jaw down once more. He nips and sucks and takes it in voicelessly. A whimper crawls its way up your bared throat, and he leans up to swallow that, too. Six seeds is not enough. Hunger this _deep_ cannot be sated with just a taste _._

You want it. The pain, the destruction... You want him to wreck you in every way possible.

"Hurt me," drops from your mouth like a confession.

"why should i?" he asks, baring crimson-tipped canines.

"Because," you say, "I love you."

It's the wrong answer.

(You cannot have his heart, for he has none.)


End file.
